


/barbara crampton

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: The Eltingville Club
Genre: Drabble, Frottage, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Premature Ejaculation, Slurs, They insult each other a lot, Virginity, theyre seniors in high school so 18 years old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: This was one of those sexual experiences Bill had no intention of mentioning in his deep and impressive memoir.
Relationships: Bill Dickey/Pete DiNunzio
Kudos: 16





	/barbara crampton

"I just think you're jealous of my IQ," add a pause for dramatic effect, "you're severely lacking upstairs."

"And a little downstairs, too. Roid rage."

These two clever quips, conceived by Bill Dickey and Pete Dinunzio respectively, earned them both a solid beating. After getting bruised, upper lips wet with nose-blood, as well as a few of the old tricks, (your wedgies and titty twisters and what have you) the pair were shoved into a locker. The _same_ locker. Barely big enough for one of them. That old brute from the hockey team (not football, surprisingly) had to really stuff them both in there. 

Then, the door was shut. Leaving them in eternal blackness, save for three slits of fluorescent, school-grade lighting. 

"Seeya later, faggots!"

Hockey douche, his name was Brad or something like that, loudly ran off with his buddies to avoid being caught red-handed. Bill would've pinched the bridge of his nose, were his arm not crammed between the cold metal and his locker companion.

"Know how to get out?" He asked. Pete shook his head, visible from those breathing holes and the light they brought through.

"Usually I just wait to get found. I mean, I can pick locks, but not these things. Completely different construction."

"Son of a bitch!" Bill slammed his elbow into the wall behind him for emphasis, which hurt like hell. "Ow, shit!"

"Yeah, these things gotta be made of military-grade steel or some shit."

"I know, jackass, I've been in here before."

"Probably better when you got someone to talk to."

"Yeah, well, it's still like putting sugar on shit." Bill adjusted himself slightly. "As Jerry might say, guess I'll go beedee-beedee-beedee-fuck myself."

"Don't you fucking start sayin' that shit, too." Pete grumbled. "And quit squirmin'!"

"I'm _trying_ to make myself comfortable."

"Oh _yeah?_ I'll make myself comfortable too, then!" Pete began wildly flailing his limbs around -- as much as he could in such a small space, anyway. Bill did the same in response, and the two began hissing at each other so hard that spit flew into each of their faces. However, neither of these stalwart heroes were built with stamina in mind, and thus they wore out very quickly. Pete, being the shorter of the two, rested his head on Bill's chest. "Asshole."

"You're..." Bill coughed. "You're an asshole."

"You're an ass _clown_."

"What the fuck does that even mean? Assclown? What have you been snorting?"

"Locker fumes." Pete wheezed, still catching his breath. "Lemme see if this thing _can_ be picked." He reached past Bill, fingers reaching for the backside of the lock. As he did so, his body continued to shift, though not in a manner entirely unpleasant. Bill's brow began to sweat.

_Oh fuck, does he even know what he's doing--_

Because their _dicks_ were totally rubbing together. And Bill didn't like dick, not in the slightest. Pete probably didn't either, why the fuck would he? But you're in a dark room, and something's just grinding up against your cock, and you wore _sweatpants_ today... Bill's hands pressed back against the wall, making a small noise, like a mouse. "The fuck was that, did I step on your foot?"

"No."

"You sounded like a chick."

"Y-you sound like a chick!"

Impulsively, Bill grabbed Pete's shoulders and slammed him back against the metal wall. 

"Hey, man, what the fuck!"

"Sorry! You were annoying me." Bill paused. "Gonna keep, uh... checking that lock out?"

"Can't. I mean, can't pick it. Basically pick-proof."

"Just gonna point out, uh," Bill's throat went dry, "you were totally grinding on my dick."

"I wasn't _grinding_ , I was _analyzing the lock_." 

"It's dark in here, and like, because you totally could've theoretically been Barbara Crampton, I got a hard-on."

"Gay."

"It's not gay! I was thinking about Barb, you faggot!"

Bill briefly repositioned his leg.

"Don't."

"Why n-- _you have a hard-on too, gaylord!"_

"You look more like Barbara Crampton than I do, dickweed!"

"Do not, cockface!"

"Cum weasel!"

"Fucking, uh, smegma licker!"

"Ew..." Pete wrinkled his nose. "I don't lick smegma, dude."

"Well, I don't know what a 'cum weasel' is. So we're even."

"Sounds like somethin' a cum weasel would say."

Bill declined to comment. Now he was just hyperaware of how close together they were. He could, just barely, feel the heat radiating from Pete's boner, probably full of rushing blood and pounding and... shit. "If you close your eyes, I could be Barbara Crampton."

"What are you getting at?"

"Listen I don't wanna be caught in here pressed up next to you with a boner." Pete sounded incredibly stern. "At the very least one could, theoretically, pass off cummed pants as having taken a whiz. Fully understandable since this locker isn't _equipped with whiz facilities_."

"Dude, you can't be serious."

"It's not gay if we can't see each other."

The offer certainly was tempting. And feeling Pete's dick was a surprisingly good motivator. It wasn't like he was into that, maybe he just... wanted it to go away as soon as possible. Bill grabbed onto the much smaller Pete, and the two latched onto one another.

"Should we make out?"

"I mean, I'd want Barb to do it."

"Yeah. You shave your face?"

"I try to."

"Good enough, I guess."

Bill hated to admit it, but he'd never connected his lips with those of a fair maiden. Pete hadn't either, as far as he knew. Nor had Josh, or Jerry. Four virgins in a room together. _Shit, that is kinda gay, isn't it?_ Regardless, they both kissed like uncoordinated dumbasses. Mostly teeth, too much tongue, sloppy and slobbery and making a whole mess. Pete stank, he was fucking disgusting. Never seemed to shower or even wash his hands, and it made Bill want to kill him sometimes.

Their dicks touched.

It must've ignited something in Pete, too. Bill grabbed onto him like his life depended on it, Pete shakily running his fingers through Bill's unkempt hair. Spittle dripped between their loosely-connected mouths as they began to fully grind against one another, thoughtlessly. Oh, how he had never felt the touch of another mortal being in such a manner.

He was having a hell of a lot of trouble imagining Barbara, or any chicks for that matter. He could hear Pete's nasty grunting and it made him even hornier somehow. Sweat was dripping through his shirt and he could feel Pete's chubby hand on his chest. He was leaving behind dollops of precum in his underwear. It really did _feel_ like he was taking a whiz, even if he wasn't really. Finally the kiss broke, and from the limited lighting, Pete looked a disheveled goddamn wreck. Bill wondered if he himself looked as messy. He could feel that his glasses were askew. Not a moment's rest, however, the two continued to hump. Blindly. Wildly.

"I'm gonna fucking jizz."

"If you- _hnnnnn_ -"

Bill snorted.

"Hnnnnn."

Pete rutted against Bill particularly harshly, causing Bill to make a "wah" sort of noise. Pete laughed.

"Aw, shut up! I can't... shit..." Bill leaned over Pete, clinging onto his shoulders. The two were becoming fast. Uncoordinated. Bill came first, his legs stiffened and he tried to keep his voice down by burying his face in Pete's shoulder. Pete did so at around the same time, but Bill could hardly tell. His body was white-hot and his eyes were blurry. His whole crotch became even hotter, wet and swampy and kind of gross.

He held on for a moment, his legs feeling like gelatin.

"Biiiiillll..." Pete whined. "This feels way nastier than taking a whiz..."

"You never..." Bill started, but forgot what he was about to say. "I'm tired."

"Let's just, uh," Pete let out a tiny yawn, "let's just have a nap."

"Mmyeah."

And so, they did.


End file.
